CHAPTER FIVE #3
This morning, her non-appearance at breakfast had been to him a relief, and he had set out with his agent on horseback, determined to remain out of doors until sunset.
But memory, that intrusive betrayer, had fed him images of his conduct, and he was riven with remorse.
He had come back expressly to find her, and make amends.
He drew a breath, and spoke without turning round.
“Rosina.”
“Yes, my lord.”
There was a quality in her voice — of sympathy? That was the last thing he wished for. Never mind it. This was not about what he wanted, but about what she deserved.
He did not turn around, but kept his eyes on the view from the window: a deserted formal garden, the stables and outhouses just visible beyond, behind a belt of trees.
“I have behaved abominably since our marriage. More so since we arrived here. I do not know what to say to you. If I were to make you a promise to mend in future, I know I should break it. I am not fit company.”
Her voice came from behind him, a trifle diffident. “It has, I think, to do with your half-brother. Your bitterness, I mean.”
“Bitterness. It was his own disease. I had it not, until he gave it to me.”
“But he is dead. Can you not forget it?”
Would that he could! But how, when the very core of it had brought him to this pass? Else he would not have put himself on to the market and purchased an impossible dream. But that could not be said. Easy enough to find another reason. They were all of them valid.
“It is a trifle difficult,” he said, turning so that she received his good side.
“His legacy surrounds me.” His hand threw an arc that encompassed the house and grounds.
“You’ve seen the place. It was never thus when my father was alive.
Piers has brought it to this pass in the space of seven years. ”
To his secret satisfaction, Rosina came to join him at the window. “Was it then done to thwart you?”
He emitted a mirthless laugh. “Not until he knew at the last that I must succeed him. He had only to marry and beget an heir to keep me out. Only his reputation was so besmirched no woman of any standing would have him. Piers would never have stooped to the sort of bargain in which I have indulged.” She winced and he put out a hand.
“That was not meant to insult you, Rosina.”
“I take no offence.”
“You should!” It was forceful. He moved closer and took her hands in a grasp that sent shivers through her. “Rosina, I meant to make a marriage of convenience, but I find myself with something quite different. I don’t yet know what it is.”
She was conscious of softening. “It must be what we make it.”
He drew her closer, and Rosina found herself looking directly up into his disfigured countenance. There was vibrancy in his tone, a throb of something she did not understand.
“Can you truly stomach this?”
Her voice shook, for her pulse had begun a slow thump that made it difficult to speak. “If I am permitted to become accustomed, why should I not?”
His gaze bored into hers and for a wild instant, Rosina thought he was going to kiss her.
She felt her lips quiver and her fingers trembled in his.
His face changed. He released her and stepped back, turning to give her the good side of his face.
Rosina watched him, oddly bereft. A rush of heat had enveloped her, and her knees were still shaking.
For the first time, she found herself wondering what it might be like to give herself to her husband’s caresses.
There was a lengthy silence. Rosina cast about for something to say. Her mind was all chaos, but she wanted more than anything to hold him here. Let him not leave her flat as he was wont to do, after rousing in her so tempestuous a reaction. All at once, she remembered. “Speaking of paintings…”
He started, frowning as he looked round. “Yes?”
“The one you caused to be put in my bedchamber,” she pursued. “It is of your mother, I understand?”
Raith stared at her, hardly aware of what she meant, so intensely had he been involved with the too-close step towards disaster.
He had almost given in to the temptation to kiss her.
But then he felt her reaction and knew he could not do it.
She would let him, but she was intensely afraid.
A highly inconvenient discovery to realise that he could not satisfy his desire at the expense of her dignity.
To know she was forcing herself to accept his caresses?
No, a thousand times. It had cost him an effort to mention the scar, to ask.
She had shown willing. Was that to be all?
“My mother?” he repeated vaguely.
“She seemed not to resemble you, but then I could not properly see her face. Is there no larger portrait?”
Rosina felt as if she was babbling. His abstraction had not escaped her. He was retiring into his shell again. She became aware she could not bear it.
But then he caught up with her train of thought. “There was no portrait done of her. I have a miniature.”
“Why did you have it put in my room?”
“I thought it suitable. It is the most attractive painting in the house. Besides, it was her room once, and I remember her with — affection.”
The word drifted between them, poignant and wistful. Rosina had no words.
Her husband glanced at her. “I must go. I came only to … say what I did.” She felt him reach for her hand and his gaze dropped to her fingers as he caressed them lightly with his thumb, sending a flitter through her pulses.
“If I give you further cause to hate me, Rosina, remember that it is the last thing I desire.”